


We Will Not Grow Old

by faege



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-22
Updated: 2011-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-23 13:43:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/250941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faege/pseuds/faege
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>  <i>There are some things that we will never have to worry about.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	We Will Not Grow Old

**Author's Note:**

> Title by Lenka.

There are some things that we will never have to worry about. Lines and wrinkles. Old sports injuries. A beer gut. Thinning hair. Retirement.

Other people will worry about cholesterol and complain about adding salmon to their diet. We don’t. We flash them by, two kids in a classic car, what do we know, probably took it for a joyride, probably our dad’s, acting like there’s nothing to tomorrow. Damn us.

 _The young act like they’ll live forever._ That’s what they say, shaking their heads and fretting at the mirror. _It’ll catch up to them._

It makes our smiles wider, makes our hearts count down faster, because we know they’re wrong. It won’t catch up to us.

We’re flying to meet it.

Two kids in a classic car, thrum of the engine making them dizzy, making them think the world will never end. That’s what they think. Stupid. We know the world will end for us; we’re here to make sure it doesn’t end for them.

 _You boys have no idea how lucky you are._ That’s what they say, patting our cheeks. We nod, but they’re wrong. We have an idea of how lucky we are. I have an idea of what I’d give to see wrinkles on my brother’s face. I have an idea of what I’d do to make sure his hair turns gray and he has liver spots on his hands.

We will never see gray.

 _They don’t care._ That’s what they think. They see two kids in a classic car, looking like we’re not doing a damn thing, and they think one day we’ll get our due, get slapped with some responsibility. _You enjoy life while you can._ That’s what we’re told, rueful eyes raking over our unkempt appearance.

Every town we leave, we whisper back, _You enjoy life for us._

Two kids in a classic car, grinning at the little things—M&M’s, sunshine, a hundred miles of good road—and they think we think we’re immortal.

And who knows? Maybe the ones who live forever are the ones who die the soonest.


End file.
